What You Lose
by Halfpenny
Summary: Upon realizing he was about to lose Bulma forever, Yamcha decides to make one final, desperate gamble. B/Y, prevailing V/B.
1. Deal

Disclaimer: I am well on my way to owning DBZ. I will keep you updated on the details.

**A/N: **Both Yamcha lovers and haters can benefit from this. I have no respect for Yamcha bashers. Why muster the energy to hate him so fervently? Just ignore him if he bothers you so much. What has he done to you? 

**Warnings: **Coarse language. Violence. No nudity. Unfortunately. 

Edited because, a couple of months ago, I sucked even worse than I do now.

--**what you lose**

_I just do my best to stay alive   
Got a junked out car but you should see me drive   
Racing down St. Charles Avenue   
Ain't got much but what I got   
Will sure be good for you_

--_"Money Back Guarantee"_

Man, I could've done it then. With all those people around she probably wouldn't have said no. I mean, she _could_ have, I guess, and crushed my hopes into pieces and shot me through the heart, _bang, _but it would've made her look kind of bad. If there's one thing Bulma can't stand, it's looking bad in front of other people.

I downed the last of my champagne and fingered my glass. At the moment she was mingling with relatives, stunning and a half in her skin-tight silver dress. As if sensing my gaze, she turned her head slightly to meet it, winking. I felt an involuntary blush spring across my nose. Only when she turned back around again to continue her conversation did I feel my heart kick-start itself.

"So, Yamcha, how have you been lately?"

I figure I must have jumped, even though I wasn't really startled, because the next moment my once-white left cuff was beige and damp and there was only about half the alcohol remaining in my glass. I turned to see Mrs. Briefs heading toward me, pastry in hand. "I mean, I haven't seen you around," she continued. Her voice, though cheerful, likened to her blouse as was therefore far, far too loud. "One must wonder where you've been keeping yourself. Do you usually try and drink champagne through your sleeves?"

"Only occasionally," I said. I spent a few useless moments trying to scrub off the stain with a napkin, then gave up and tossed it into the crowd. "And I keep myself here and there. Anywhere, I guess." 

On the other side of the room, Bulma suddenly burst into laughter. I caught my breath as the soft light shimmered off her hair. 

Mrs. Briefs hid what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle behind the top crust of her pastry. "So, when's it gonna be, hon? We're all kinda waiting here."

She had a funny accent. It was a noisy room, too… it would have been understandable for a number of different reasons that I was completely and utterly baffled and said so. The perpetual smile on her face deepened. "Don't act so confused, Yamcha, we know you're almost there. Why not do it now?"

"I… don't know what you're talking about." I made a study of the stain and lifted my arm to sniff at it. The sniff was a little too enthusiastic; my eyes watered. "I mean, I'm not almost anything. Anything, you know, near _there, _wherever there _is_… and. Where is there?"

"Try the pastries," she said, and reached up to pat me gently on the cheek. "You'll do fine. I wouldn't wait too long, though. You know how Bulma is when she gets impatient."

I watched her wander away, wondering, as always, why she couldn't have passed more endearing traits down to her daughter.

A sound of silverware against glass; Dr. Briefs stood to begin the toast. I took my place beside Bulma, snatching a bottle from the table for a refill. She smiled up at me. "You spilled champagne on yourself."

She had always been observant, but then, I reeked like a leaky barrel in a damp wine cellar. "I thought it would be charming."

"Oh, it is," she agreed dryly, and there was a sudden, subtle shift that served to soften her expression. Her hand reached out to squeeze mine briefly, then lowered to lightly grasp the neck of her glass. "And I must admit, you _do_ need some help being charming."

My mouth opened in preparation to counter with a witty retort, but as it did she glanced at me again and smiled, and whatever comeback I had planned turned to ash on the tip of my tongue. My fingers wormed into my pocket, fumbling until they reached smooth, velvet curves. _Will you_, I rehearsed silently. _Will you._

"… both compassionate and brilliant. I couldn't ask for a better daughter even if I wished on the Dragonballs…"

"What do you think, Yamcha?" she murmured out of the corner of her mouth. Over near the end of the table, Uncle Haynes spilled red wine onto his white surcoat and spent several moments drunkenly trying to lick the stain from the fabric. "Some party, hmm?"

"It's great," I said. My heart was hammering wildly, making concentration difficult. _I can do _this, I thought, and I with that slowly began to pull out the box. _Smooth. _"It's beautiful."

"… so it is to my pleasure I give you my lovely daughter, Bulma. May this birthday be the prelude of many more to come."

From across the table, Mrs. Briefs smiled at me encouragingly.

I hesitated when everyone raised their glasses. "Aren't you going to join in the toast?" she asked.

I let the box drop back down into my pocket, retrieving my drink. "Yeah," I said. Bulma slipped her hand into mine, and this time let it linger.

_Will you._


	2. Gamble

"Fries."

I glanced over at her. She was staring out the window, chin in hand, hair trailing listlessly over the top of her shoulder. It was dark, but I could sense her blue eyes staring at me in the reflection of the window. I focused back on the road, automatically flicking the brights off as a car approached from the opposite direction. "I'd like fries," she said again absently, "with lots of grease and ketchup. And a burger. Not just any burger, though. A big burger. With cheese and pickles and lettuce and onions and two all beef patties. And a soda."

It was nearly a month after her birthday and Bulma was unhappy. It was something subtle, underneath all of the whining and teasing and the short-tempered responses. Being a veteran of many a war with Bulma, I had a knack for cutting in right at the right moment with a comment about the weather, or her beauty, or how she liked this or that or whatever the hell came to mind whenever she got that _look _in her eyes. They weren't particularly intelligent statements, and she could have easily ignored them and told me to shut up and hear her out, but she didn't, which was precisely the reason my underarms kept dampening every time she looked away. 

I don't think she knew what I was up to at the time. We were coming home from a night out on in the city, and the bulge in my pocket could have been any number of things. A wad of bills, maybe, all for the sake of taking her out, or a cell phone I'd lifted from a passerby for the sake of 'keeping my fingers in shape', or maybe a gumball or something else equally as stupid. Even now I'm not sure whether or not she would have accepted if I'd grown some balls and actually _showed_ her the diamond I'd gotten her. If nothing else, she was a woman who knew her mind, and if she had accepted, it would have been because she loved me, and nothing else. 

But, Kami, it was worth seeing her face light up when I pulled into the carnival. We were both in our thirties—too old to be there without some kid to take—but the way the rainbow lights lit up the sky from every direction in countless different ways was more than enough to overcome pride. 

"Oh, Yamcha, the Ferris wheel…!" she breathed as we got out of the car. "Promise me we'll go on it!"

My "Sure thing," sounded suitable masculine, but the effect was ruined when my fascination caused me to stumble over a rise in the pathway. "Anyway," I said, straightening and ignoring her grin, "It'll be a good chance to check out the entire park. Hey, babe, before we go, how about we get something to—"

"HOT DOGS! Hoo-RAY!" Bulma nearly yanked me off my feet. "I want ketchup and mustard and pickles! But then there's my diet. Dammit. Salad. Do you like salad?"

"Bulma," I began, and stumbled when a firm yank nearly took me off my feet. "Bulma, you can't be serious…"

"If I eat all that I'll get fat. Oh, look." As usual, we didn't make it halfway to our intended destination before she stopped again, this time in front of a shooting booth. "Do you see it?" 

Sighing, I followed her gaze to the back, too accustomed to unpredictability to waste time acting confused. "What, the purple one?"

"Yes." She clasped her hands to her chest, and I was forcefully reminded of some of the reasons that I loved her. "It's so cute! I've been wanting a purple teddy for the longest time. Don't laugh, I'm serious! I used to collect bears back when I was a kid."

I grinned, fingering the money in my pocket. I would have a fair shot; living on the brink and the go had a way of sharpening your senses, and the fact that I'd handled guns since I was ten wouldn't hurt, either. "You want it?"

"Well, duh! Hurry up and get it for me, you big dummy!"

I laid ten zeni down on the counter and sat on the stool in front of the harness holding the dartgun. They didn't allow you to actually pick them up anymore; the fiasco a few years back with the madman in South City had probably gotten everyone a little edgy where firearms, or anything remotely resembling them, were concerned. Flicking my hair out of my eyes, I looked down the barrel. "The sights off," I said.

The man shook his head. "You're the third person today who's said that."

I squinted, then shifted over. _When did I become left-eyed? _"How many times are people going to have to tell you before you get a clue?"

He shrugged, adopting an expression that clearly said, 'You're not the first person to bitch at me today'. "If you're good enough, you won't need it."

"What do I have to do to get the purple bear?"

"Shoot three targets in a row. Miss, you start over."

"Okay." I adjusted the gun slightly. "Like this?"

BAM.

The guy slowly straightened and looked over his shoulder. The dart quivered in the wall the level his head had been earlier. "Oops," I said, and brought the gun back down.

Bulma whapped my shoulder, apparently not fooled. I turned the gun towards the target furthest to the right, aimed, and shot three times.

BAM BAM BAM.

The man looked at me. It wasn't a particularly mean look, exactly, but the fact that he was scratching behind his ear with his middle finger told me all I needed to know. "Sorry," I said.

As soon as he handed it to me I turned to Bulma and dropped on one knee to present it to her with a flourish. 

We decided to hit the roller coaster first. It was more for her than for me; once you've flown, there's not a whole lot in the way of rides that can thrill you anymore. After that, on Bulma's demand, we went to the photo booth, the virtual reality area, the cotton candy cart ("No fat!" she said happily) and a good percentage of the game booths. Only after several hours did we finally get to the Ferris wheel. It was seriously massive. It towered over the tallest peak of the roller coaster and was by far the brightest, most colorful structure in the entire park. 

My nerve failed me there, too, actually. I had been planning to propose right there, with the stars as a backdrop and the music floating up from below us, but the intent caught and held somewhere between the motion it took to pull it out and the effort it took to say. For perhaps the tenth time that year, I let the box fall back into my pocket.

To this day I don't really know what would've happened if we had only gotten off a couple of seconds later. From the way she talks now I guess it wouldn't have made much of a difference. It probably would've made it a lot less humiliating, though, if at that exact moment I _hadn't _run into one of my old girlfriends as soon as we got back onto the main path. It had been a pretty short thing –Bulma and I always ended up getting back together within a few weeks, and anyone else we dated we had done so to spite each other—but it didn't stop her from coming up, grabbing my face, and kissing the living crap out of me while Bulma watched. "Nara!" I sputtered, horrified, and tried to push her away. "What the hell…?"

"Hiya, Yamcha!" she chirped. "Long time no see!"

I threw a frantic glance at Bulma, who, despite the fact that I felt her aura rise significantly, hadn't budged an inch, and tried to remove Nara's hands. She began squirming instantly. "You're hurting me," she whined. 

I eased up instantly. The last thing I needed was to be accused of abusing my ex-girlfriend. "I'm in the middle of something really important right now."

"That's still no way to treat an old friend. You look sexy in black, by the way." 

"Shit," I replied, and her eyebrows lowered. "I mean, look. We broke things off over a year ago. I never liked you anyway. I treated you like crap. So let go. I have a date."

"A date?" She glanced over my shoulder, looked Bulma up and down, and smiled. It looked faintly sinister. "You must be Bulma. How _are _you?"

"Nara," I said, "are you doing this just to screw up my life? I'm with her, right? Right. See? It was nice running into you. Kind of. Ow! OW!"

"I guess it's your lucky day. I don't usually give up so easily." She gave me a final squeeze and pulled away, flicking her fingers at Bulma. "But you're such a cutie I'll give you a break. See you, sweetie." 

"Ow," I whimpered, and meant it.

Bulma watched her go, then turned to me. There was something of a barely-restrained killer in her eyes. "That," I said, and coughed to get my voice back to the octave it belonged, "wasn't at all what it looked like. Seriously. I'm so sorry."

"Are you going to explain?"

"I guess I can, but—"

"Will it indicate that you are actually full of shit?"

I swallowed. "Possibly."

She shook her head. I guess I'm just an idiot. After all, if I'd had anything in the way of brains in my head I would've reacted a little faster. Maybe if I had, Bulma might've leapt into my arms and gave me the kiss instead and whispered in my ear that I was the most loyal, kind-hearted guy around, instead of simply standing there once Nara left, watching me. Looking back, it wasn't her posture that frightened me, or even the expression on her face, which had that same look of barely-contained fury I had grown accustomed to over the years. It was that dullness in her eyes, like she was just _tired, _or.._. _"Listen, babe, I'm really, really sorry," I said. "She was just friend from when you and I broke up last year. I dumped her even before we got back together. _Way _before we got back together. Seriously."

"Are you finished?"

The pain was in my groin slowly faded. I bit the inside of my cheek, straightening. "Yeah."

"Okay." She turned on her heel. 

The response, brief as it was, scared the hell out of me. "I swear, it's not what you think! I know it looks bad, but…"

"Yamcha," she said, and I was almost relieved to finally hear a touch of anger. "_Dammit. _Let's just get something to eat."

The nearest place to eat was a little mini-café, on the outskirts of the carnival. We got a decent table and actually managed to get halfway through the meal before she put down her fork and looked at me. I pretended not to notice at first. It was a crowded area, after all, with children and babies and noisy old men joking about the poker tent. I could've been distracted by any number of things. It was difficult to overlook the fact that her salad was barely touched and that look was still there, though, and after several minutes I gave up, meeting her gaze. "We need to talk," she said simply.

The taste of chile and cheese turned rancid. I swallowed hard, putting the remains of the hotdog on the table. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Right now? Because I hear the dessert is pretty good here. If you're finished with your salad we can go ahead and—"

"Yamcha!"

I shut my mouth. 

Bulma put her wrists on the counter, lacing long fingers together. I couldn't help but notice how delicate they were, pale and unblemished. I looked down at my own, noting knuckles made knobby from battle and scars dancing down the fingers and over the back of my hand. "We need to talk," she repeated softly. "We've… we've needed to talk."

"This is still about that girl, isn't it? Why won't you believe me? She was an _old_ girlfriend. A _really _old girlfriend. Not even a girlfriend! I wasn't even serious about her. It was when we'd broken up and I was lonely, that was it, I promise…"

"It isn't _about_ that," she said, and once again I was taken aback by the quiet note of consternation behind the harsh words. "Or even about that kiss, which you could've avoided, you know, because I've seen you dodge ki blasts point blank, don't try and deny it."

"You're right, I have. But those are ki blasts, and she was—"

"A woman?"

I noted the danger of the new path and hastily retreated from it. "She just took me by surprise, that's all."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn't enjoy it?" she demanded. "At least give me a little credit. I'm not blind. And it's not like this hasn't happened before. Remember two months ago?"

Yes, actually. The way she said it made me defensive as hell, though. "Hey, Jennica came onto me! What are you trying to say, anyway? I've never cheated on you."

Her face was impassive. I took a deep breath, suddenly realizing my heart was racing. "Never," I repeated.

"We need to talk," she said for the third time, and this time her jaw set. It made her look as beautiful as it did murderous. "About _us._ I'm sorry if it sounds cliché."

"That's okay." _Cool and casual casual casual._ "What about 'us'?"

Our waitress breezed by to refill my coke, carefully shifting in such a way that she brushed against my elbow. I didn't pay any attention. "Is it something bad about _us?_" I continued interestedly. "You know, because if it is, maybe we should eat dessert first. It'll settle your stomach and things won't seem so bad, né?"

I cut off when she looked up at me. To my horror, her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," she whispered. "You're not stupid, Yamcha, so stop pretending you don't know where this is going."

Going. The ring box turned to lead weight. For a brief moment I envisioned leaping from the chair and kneeling in front of her, proposing right there on the spot, with greasy fries all around and gawking, chubby children waiting in line for ice-cream at the counter. I moved my mouth, then closed it, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "You…" I began, and felt my throat close up. I cleared it impatiently, blinking. "This can't just be about…"

"It's not." Bulma released a slow breath. "And I think you know why."

It was that same silent communication that had sustained through the years; the way messages could be exchanged with the way her fingers drummed the table, and where our eyes focused, and the way she nibbled her lip. I broke the connection and stared back down at my hands. It was weird, trying to figure out what I should feel; I suppose I should've been angry, or disappointed, or sad, or something, but I didn't feel much of anything. "Him."

She nodded.

_Casual. Going. Gone. _"What's he got that I don't?" 

Bulma laughed then, bell-like and unexpected. "Well, he's royalty, for one thing. You don't find that every day."

"You're turning me down because he's next in line to rule a dead planet?"

She stood, bending to give me a kiss on the forehead. "I'm going to catch a cab home. Thanks for the bear and night out, Yamcha. I really did have a good time."

I watched her lips as they pulled away. "I could be royalty, too."

"It's more than that. It's always been more than that. I decided this a long time ago, Yamcha. I'm not getting any younger." Something in the kitchen crashed; the person at the register began yelling over his shoulder. "If this was going to work it would've started working a long time ago."

I had about a thousand different ways to shoot a thousand different accusations; how I was being pinned as a player when she had strung me along even after she no longer loved me; how she allowed a prince to steal one heart and break the other. _How_. "Take the car," I said dully. "Capsule Corp.'s too far, it'll cost you an arm. I'll fly." 

Children pushed around us, laughing excitedly, ice-cream cones clutched in sticky fingers. "Call me later," she said gently, taking the keys from me. "We can talk about it."

"You'll come back to me," I told her as she began walking away. "You will. Just like the last times. You watch."

Bulma turned, smiling. It was a brief, beautiful smile, and for a moment I was reminded of an eternity ago, her cross-legged in the dust and me tripping in front of her, gazes locked and hearts stopped, stupid dreams and wishes of courage and strawberries somehow as tangible as the earth we walked on. Then the image faded, leaving behind that small, wise smile, as if she knew something I would never have the chance to learn. "Goodbye, Yamcha. Thanks for everything."

I shook my head slightly, returning my attention to the table. She left, setting the bell by the door to chiming. "She'll be back," I said to no one. "She'll be back any time now, begging for my forgiveness. I'll scoop her into my arms, and I'll kiss her, and I'll tell her how beautiful she is, and everything'll be okay then, just watch and see."

I ordered another drink and waited for her to come back through the door. 

She didn't.

~^~

Capsule Corp. was the center of town, even though it wasn't _really_ located in the center of town. It towered above just about everything else, and its shape was definitely distinctive. I once joked about it actually being a gigantic capsule half-buried in the earth and forgotten. Bulma had popped a popcorn kernal in my mouth, told me in a voice all too serious that it was extremely possible, and turned up the volume on the movie we were watching, leaving me to wonder.

I stood on the walkway for a moment. I'd spent a good deal of life behind those smooth walls; eating, sleeping, talking, and dreaming. It'd been my home away from home away from home and I hadn't realized how much I would miss it, until now, and far, far too late. 

Denty the mecha-butler opened the door when I rang the bell. "EH," it said, and turned around twice. There was no reason for it to turn around twice, but it did, cogs squeaking, and when it faced me again it turned its head so that the working eye was able to identify me. "STATE YOUR NAME AND BU-BU-BUSINESS. _ERROR._"

"Denty, let me in. It's Yamcha, you know me."

The light behind the eye blinked. "I AM SORRY, BUT THE MASTERS-OF-THE-HOUSE HAVE INSTRUCTED ME TO IGNORE YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO DISREGARD THE CURRENT SITUATION AND RE-RE-REDIRECT _ERROR_ YOU IN A MANNER THAT DOES NOT OVERLY UPSET YOU OR CONTRIBUTE TO THE STRESS FACTOR OF ANY INVOLVED."

I stared at it, feeling an absurd urge to start laughing. "Okay, but… I really need to speak with Bulma. Let me in, okay? I won't be long."

"I AM SORRY, BUT THE MASTERS-OF-THE-HOUSE—"

I shoved him aside. He squealed in alarm, LEDs blinking in distress. "PLEASE, THE MASTERS-OF-THE-HOUSE WILL BE VERY UPSET-SET-SET-SET _ERROR_ WITH ME IF I AM TO ALLOW YOU INSIDE. PLEASE EXIT IMMEDIATELY."

"Go screw yourself," I muttered. As I turned the corner I suddenly ran into Bulma, who was hurrying down the hallway. 

"Denty, what's going…" She blinked when she saw me, stopping dead in her tracks. "Yamcha, what…"

She was wearing _that_ white sundress, a satin ribbon tied just above her elbow. I remembered telling her how much I hated it when she wore it; it made me wonder if I was dead or alive, seeing all the angels. She had always smacked me across the face, then smacked me again, after we'd made out for around a quarter of an hour. "I need to see Vegeta," I said. "Is he here?"

An eyebrow leapt up beneath her bangs and stayed there. "Yes, and why exactly? He's been in quite a mood, you know, with all that's happened."

"I think you should love me," I said. "I think you should leap into my arms and love me, whisper in my ear and make me blush and wish this moment could last forever, just so I'll never have to come down from the feeling that nothing can ever be this perfect again, not even after a hundred girls and a hundred years." 

She looked at me, folding her arms. After a long moment I realized I hadn't actually relayed any part of the sentiment. "Yeah, I know," I said instead, "but for some reason I can't seem to pinpoint his ki. Could you point me in his general direction? I swear I won't tell him you told me."

She waited, then sighed. "Undamaged, the gravity room has the capability to shield ki," she said. "Be careful when you go in, the gravity's liable to be set anywhere from three to five hundred."

"Thanks, babe." I turned on my heel and headed toward the door.

"Yamcha."

I looked over my shoulder. She nibbled her bottom lip, an undercurrent of concern in a suspicious expression. "You're not planning to do anything stupid," she said, and it was not question.

"That being defined as…?"

"Don't play games with me, Yamcha. I know that look. I want your word that you're not going to do anything that's going to get you hurt or killed."

I thought I was going to have to force a smile, but to my surprise it came unbidden. "It's cool," I said, throwing her a 'V', "you know me."

"Yamcha…"

I shut the door. She didn't follow me.

The breeze whispered through the trees overhead, shaking out loose leaves and carrying them to the ground. I crossed the lawn toward the gravity machine, forcing my step to remain steady. A ki blast slammed off the sides, followed by a furious Saiyajin battle cry. I licked my lips, suddenly wishing I had thought to ask Bulma for a glass of water. 

_"I want your word that your word that you're not going to do anything that's going to get you hurt or killed."_

I paused at the door, hand hesitating above the panel. As if sensing it, the LED in the corner blinked, prompting the door to woosh open. I spent a few minutes trying to think of a curse profound enough to express my irritation, then stepped forward. 

The difference in gravity was both intense and immediate. Vegeta was at the center of the facility, engaged in a battle with an invisible partner. His stopped mid-punch when I began walking toward him and turned to face me. His arms crossed ominously. "I'll fight you for her," I said.

A pause. Vegeta inclined his head slightly. "What are you talking about, _ningen?_"

I swallowed hard. He was at least a head shorter than I was, but shit, he was intimidating, with an arrogance born out of complete and utter confidence. "I'll fight you for her," I repeated. 

He studied me for a moment, then smirked slightly. His pose sank into languor; he raised his arms above his head in a stretch that looked extraordinarily out of place. "And what makes you think… that I would want her?" 

"She wants you. And, as far as I know, she loves you, for some reason. I'm not all that familiar with Saiyajin customs, but, dammit, I was going to propose to her. Any idea what significance that holds to us humans?"

He lowered himself back to earth, the amused smile gaining a wicked edge. "Any idea what consequences will befall you if you continue to use that tone with me?"

My head hurt. I suddenly realized how hard I was clenching my jaw and released it, taking a deep breath. "Listen, I don't care if you're a hundred times stronger than me, and I don't really give a monkey's ass what you _think_, if you _think, _but I do want to have a fair shot at her. If I fight you and win, will you turn her over to me?"

Vegeta threw back his head and laughed. It was a weird sort of laugh, especially when coming from him; the rhythm was off, somehow. "And you expect to be able to defeat me? Don't make me waste my time."

"Why are you such an arrogant son of a bitch?" I snapped, tiredly. "I'm asking you for a fight, winner takes all. It shouldn't even _matter _to you if you lose. I would do anything to protect her. She loves you and you don't even care about her."

"You have no say in what I care and do not care about."

I blinked, taken aback by the odd response, but Vegeta was already raising his ki to battle level. Not allowing myself to ponder the stupidity of what I was about to do, I settled into stance. I was slightly unnerved, but unsurprised, that he didn't do the same. "Well?" he said. He sounded bored. "Are you just going to stand there? Come, now, I haven't got all day."

I didn't even see him dodge. My attack was fast, and I'd bet a limb or two that it looked as cool as fuck, but the fact was he was there one moment and gone the next. Before I could turn a foot slammed into my shoulder, hurling me against the wall. Cracks shot up to the ceiling. "Oh, you'll have to do much better than that," he assured me. 

I picked myself up, grinning. It wasn't that I was amused by the fact I was probably going to die or anything, but there was something absurdly reassuring about something that just didn't change. Vegeta was Vegeta no matter where he was, what he was doing, or who he was beating up on. I still hated his guts and all the rest of him, but in some odd, twisted way I felt respect. "You're smiling," Vegeta observed.

I darted in, throwing myself into a series of rapid-fire combinations. He blocked them all one-handed. "It's nothing really," I said. "I guess I'm just now realizing what a bastard you are."

He nodded, then broke into my offense and cracked me across the jaw. It was a relatively weak blow, all things considering, but it did manage to wipe the smirk off my face. "Stop stalling and fight," he said.

I stumbled backward into the wall, then used it to push myself off from. To my annoyance he stood his ground, allowing me to content myself with throwing in a bunch of useless punches at his nose, his jaw, his solar plexus, his floating rib, before catching my arm and squeezing. I gritted my teeth against pain, twisting to kick out at him. He caught that, too. "Listen," I said, irritated, "how about you stop being such a jackass and fight me like a—"

Angry red patterns slashed across my vision as he hurled me down savagely, cracking the back of my head against the floor, then tossed my against the wall again. Plaster rained down onto me as I collapsed to the floor, biting back a groan and curling into a ball. "What? Like a man?" he sneered, driving a boot into my stomach. "Tell me something, _ningen_. Does a man let a woman dictate the course of his actions? Does a man come crawling in on his hands and knees, begging like a pup does to a bitch? Does a man whine and carry on because he doesn't have the courage to protect what he needs and doesn't have the balls to _obtain what he wants_?"

I coughed, gasping as agony flared across my ribs, and struggled to get to my feet. The room shifted dangerously. "I won't lose," I whispered, and lunged forward. 

A swift knee-elbow combination sent me back onto my hands and knees, coughing. Blood spattered to the floor beneath me. "Oh, come now," Vegeta laughed. A swift kick underneath my chin sent me flying backwards. "Surely that's not all you have to offer…? What a waste of time. This is pathetic!"

I turned the fall into a back somersault, then gathered my ki to attempt a Wolf Fang Fist. He stood calmly, allowing it to strike him full in the chest. I landed back on my feet, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to toss a Kienzan his way. _That _made him move quick enough –Kuririn's technique was notorious for sliding through mountains when allowed to complete its trajectory—but also completely disappear, leaving no trace of ki. Seeing the Kienzan slicing toward the roof, I hurriedly snapped off a _kikou_, which immediately detonated the attack; an instant later I was hurled forward by a sharp kick to my lower back. I skidded along the floor, scraping the skin off my nose.

He landed gracefully. Furious, I staggered to my feet and went on the offensive. Once again I didn't even see his counterattack, but in less than a second I was flat on my back with pain flaring in a number of pressure points. "Idiot," he said. "Did you honestly expect to defeat a Saiyajin warrior? Your fighting skills are no better than a child's, it's disgraceful."

I pushed myself up with trembling arms, scooting away from the mess. Every muscle screamed in protest. "Ow," I muttered.

"You wish to protect her? To be her mate?" He kicked my arms out from beneath me at the elbow, wringing forth a yelp from me. "You can't even protect yourself!"

Lying on the floor, a mess after only a minute and a half of fighting, my pride wounded beyond repair, I let anger took hold of my better judgment. I rolled away from him slightly and, without giving him time to react, I put my palms together, smacking my knuckles against the floor as I tossed my hands to the side. "KAME HAME HA!"

Vegeta cursed as the blue-white beam lanced toward him, jerking out of the way just in time. The edge of the beam caught his shoulder and blasted a hole through the roof. I sank back to the floor, exhausted.

Vegeta fingered the blackened spot of fabric, then turned to me, a terrible grin on his face. "Admirable," he said, very softly.

I don't really remember exactly what happened in the next several minutes. From the first blow everything faded into a brilliant white haze of agony; I occasionally felt specifics: a knee to the groin, a fist to the jaw, slamming to the floor again and again. A small eternity passed before I fully regained consciousness again, this time half-kneeling, Vegeta's hand tight around my neck. I feebly tried to pull it away, fingers scraping uselessly away at his. "And does a man," he hissed, barely an inch from my face, "sink so low that he would risk his very existence to try and take back what was never his?"

"I don't know," I rasped. Consciousness was beginning to shift in and out dangerously. An odd sort of calm filled me, lending me an edge of reckless abandon. In a move that officially branded me as being extremely childish and extraordinarily stupid, I stuck my tongue out at the mighty Saiyajin prince of Vegeta-sei. "As soon as… you become one yourself… you can tell me."

A roar like an approaching storm arose from the corners, battering my ears. Dazzling yellow light built up like a sun between his fingers; the last thing I saw was his smile, both lit and shadowed by his own awesome power. I closed my eyes as the energy descended onto me, and there was pain, and then nothing at all. 


	3. Fold

"Yamcha?"

It was strange, feeling like I was floating on air. I was pretty sure I was dead. I mean, even though a lot of places that dead people went to had gravity similar to that of Earth's. The fact that I couldn't sense anything was, I thought, a clue in itself. In a way I was sort of grateful; if whatever restraints were holding me down would disappear, I could continue floating up into space, not having to worry about who would bring me back. 

I shivered, then coughed. It hurt. 

"I swear, you asshole, if you don't drink something or come to then you're going to have problems."

I felt a cup at my lips and parted them instinctively. Water rushed down my throat, sweet and utterly satisfying. I was most likely dead, I decided again as the cup withdrew. Maybe I was one of those squirmy ghost-type thingies I'd seen lined up outside of the waiting station. They were weightless. But, then again, why would I have lips?

"Can you hear me?"

I shifted slightly. It also _hurt_, and to a degree that I never expected things could hurt. Unconsciousness was sent for a dizzying ride for dominance. A touch on my forehead brought me back from the brink. I opened my eyes slowly, attempting to bring the ceiling into focus. It was only after several moments that I realized that the ceiling had eyes, and, in addition, had a cute, button nose and a set of red, pouty lips. Bulma was wearing make-up, I realized vaguely, and was not a ceiling. I hated when she wore make-up. She slid her hand down so the back of it was resting against my cheek. "You're awake," she said quietly. 

I blinked slowly. Senses were returning gradually; I heard the quiet clicking of the clock overhead, detected the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol, felt the soft blanket on top of me and the firm bed below me. I shifted my gaze slightly, meeting hers. "Did I win?" I asked groggily.

She shook her head. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth to fight back the sting behind my eyes. Another gentle caress broke down the last of my resistance; humiliated, I turned my head away so she wouldn't see my weakness. Bulma gripped my chin and pulled me back to her. "In case it's not showing," she said, "I'm actually very pissed off."

"You're pretty," I whispered. It might have been taken more seriously if I had added consonants, but the task was, at the moment, insurmountable. "You're beautiful."

Her nostrils flared. "Vegeta told me what happened. Jackass! Did you actually think you could beat him? And what was the big idea, trying to win me like some piece of meat? How _dare _you!"

Pain flared in the bruises on my jaw. She must have felt me flinch because she released me immediately, crossing her arms and blinking up at the ceiling. To my surprise, tears were glittering on her lashes. "Jackass," she whispered again. 

I tried to sit. It turned out to be a lot tougher than I thought, and I had to rest once I made it to my elbows. "Listen," I said, "I didn't—"

She stood so abruptly she knocked over her chair. "You didn't _what? _I don't know what you were thinking, Yamcha. If getting yourself killed was the intent of that little misadventure then you should have just come to _me _first so I could've done the job _for _you! Honestly, you've got some nerve… and what about your promise? Not only are you a jerk, you're a liar!"

"Bulma, I'm sorry…"

"That night at the carnival… the things I said…" She clenched her fists tightly, looking frustrated. "You're my best friend and I will always love you for it, but I really did mean what I said. I don't want to… to…"

"You're really pretty when you're mad," I said. 

She looked at me, and for a second I honestly thought she was going to finish the job Vegeta started. "Yamcha," she said quietly, "if you think that being such a smart-ass is actually helping…"

I managed to crank myself into a sitting position. "Bulma, look, whatever it is I'm doing, I can fix it. I'll be a better boyfriend, I… I'll buy you all the things you want… I'll stop looking at other girls. I'll wear one of those blind-thingies they put on horses pulling those carriages. Not that you're a carriage, I'm just saying."

She shook her head. "Yamcha…"

"I won't even catch them if they trip. I'll be mean to female cashiers, I'll flip off women drivers… of course, I do that already, but…"

"Are you even listening to yourself? Do you realize how incredibly pathetic you sound?"

"Now wait just a—" Pain suddenly ripped through my midsection and I bent, holding my stomach and shuddering. "Dammit…"

Bulma's expression softened. She sat down on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. "Listen to me," she said quietly. "A couple of weeks ago… right after my birthday, actually… something happened with Vegeta. I was… it was kind of an accident at first, and yet, once it _did _happen, I… I realized it was probably for the best, considering…"

I lifted my gaze to stare at her. She raised her eyes to mine, and they were sickeningly overbright. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. 

Time stopped and crashed at my feet. "No," I said. 

"Several weeks pregnant." She twisted her hands together, closed her eyes. "I'm… I don't know exactly what I feel, but... I just can't stop thinking him. … I love him."

"No."

"Dammit, Yamcha, you can't change this!" Bulma leapt up from her seat, tears running freely down her cheeks. It was like a cheesy soap opera, with the beautiful chick, and the incapacitated hottie in front of her, and then a third guy behind the scenes, manning the cameras and stealing the chick away when the scene was cut. "You've had your chance! How long did you want me to wait for you? Did you want me to ask you if you'd marry me?"

I blinked. "This was all because… I didn't propose?" I asked faintly.

"More than that." She pulled at her hair, face flushed with emotion. "More than that, _more _than that… The entire time we were together, I felt as if we were never quite seeing eye to eye. I kept expecting it to change, but… as the years went by, and nothing happened, I… I lost patience."

I licked my lips, not really listening. "All because I didn't propose on time."

She looked at me sharply, finally understanding the implications of what I was saying. "Yamcha…"

I clenched injured fists, beginning to tremble. It hurt, but I couldn't stop. "If… if I… fuck. If had been just a day earlier, then you…?"

"Oh, Yamcha." Her face softened. "Is that what…? It wouldn't have mattered. I wouldn't have accepted. Not knowing what I knew. It was over before then. It's been over for a while."

"Oh." The numb feeling crept into me again. _Over over over over over_. "I see."

Bulma gasped as I gingerly swung my legs over the side of the bed. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Are you nuts? Get back into bed!"

The intensity of the pain made me nauseous; I shut my eyes briefly, pressing a hand against my forehead to try and ward off the sudden dizziness. "I'm fine."

"You have a bad concussion," she said. She sounded genuinely pissed. "It's a wonder you can even see straight. Why you haven't thrown up yet is beyond me. On top of that, you've about a dozen fractures and several burns, most of them third-degree. You're a wreck."

"Thank you," I said.

"You look like you lost a fight to a jet." For the first time, something besides anger crept into her tone. She lifted a hand and lightly rested the back of it against my temple. "Damn you. Do you really think I'm going to let you waltz around town like that? Are you even listening to me?"

I pulled away from her touch, letting my hand drop to grip the sheets at my side. Ugly bruises peeked up from nearly every place not covered bandages. I set my feet on the ground, patiently resisting the urge to bawl. _Over over over_.

"Yamcha, _wait _a minute!"

"Sorry, babe. I never should have come." Up, up, and I was standing, barely. I probably looked ridiculous; though somebody, presumably Bulma, had cleaned the blood off of me, my hair was still a mess and the rest of me looked mummified. I began peeling off the bandages as I walked. "I'm sorry you wasted your time. I'm sorry I didn't make a better boyfriend." 

She drew in a sharp breath. "You _bastard! _Don't you dare try pinning a guilt trip on me!"

"I'm not." Another step. "… … even if I'd wanted to, I… I…"

The world tilted and I stumbled. To my surprise she caught my shoulder, preventing me from tumbling to the floor. Bloodied cloth slipped from my fingers to land by my feet. "I hate you sometimes, do you know that?" she snapped. "I hate you. You have a fever. I'm calling Kuririn to pick you up."

I shook my head. 

"You are _not _going out like this!"

"It's okay. I don't want to bother you." I shrugged out of her grip, albeit gently. "In fact, I'm never going to bother you again. Or anyone. Door."

She stepped in front of me, holding a hand out, then smacked me soundly across the face with the other. I rocked back, stunned, but she had already stepped in and wrapped me in a hug. "Jackass," she whispered.

All resolve I had cracked. I ducked my head to kiss her forehead, trying not to notice how good her hair smelled. "I love you," I said. 

A chuckle, though it was muffled. "Try not to let this get you down," she said.

Everything that had been warm and comfortable a moment before suddenly grew cold. I blinked at her. "Down."

She looked up at me with a face full of encouragement. "You're drop-dead sexy. I'll admit it any day. I'm not the only one to notice, and I'm sure you're aware of it." She shrugged. "There are plenty of other girls out there for you."

"… What?"

"There are plenty of other girls out there for you," she repeated, and smiled. "You'll get over it."

I pulled away, letting my arms fall to my sides limply. My cheek hurt. _You'll get over it. _"I'm glad you feel that way."

Bulma seemed not to notice my sudden change of mood. "You're getting a senzu from Korin," she told me sternly. "_Right away_. I'm not joking around."

"I know." Actually, the gashes I was planning to keep. Hopefully they'd leave scars in addition to those already ruining my face. Even if no one else cared to remember the time we had spent pretending to be made for each other and slowly breaking each other's hearts anyway, happily discontent and restlessly settled, at least _I _would have (physical) evidence, even as her son or daughter grew up oblivious to past references. _That _man, they'd say. Look at all the scars. "I will."

Shaking off the last of the bandages around my head, I brushed past her, moving off down the hallway slowly. As I approached the living room I heard the faint sounds of the TV. I stopped just outside the door. Vegeta was sitting ramrod straight on the couch, intent on the screen. After a moment he turned his head to meet my gaze. The expression in his dark eyes was completely unreadable. "Going somewhere, _ningen?_" he asked simply.

I nodded. "You'd better take good care of her," I muttered. Though I knew he heard me (Saiyajin hearing rivaled a Namek's) he turned back to the TV, giving no sign. I felt Bulma coming up from behind me and hastily continued the journey, not wanting her to see any hesitation. As soon as she passed the opening Vegeta snapped, "_Now _will you get on to fixing that machine?"

"In a minute," she replied crossly. "A little patience will do you good."

The air felt good against my heated skin. I powered up slightly as the evening shadows tentatively reached toward my toes. Nearly night, I thought absently. The desert was calling. Bulma walked up behind me. "I'm surprised that you can still power up."

"I wasn't fighting for very long."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know this seems unfair."

I shrugged. "I was dating the most beautiful woman in the world," I replied. "Dreams aren't meant to be kept."

Bulma crossed her arms, frowning, but didn't respond. I considered trying to get a goodbye kiss out of her, but the look in her eyes –pained but firm—stopped me in my tracks. "Goodbye," I said quietly, and turned in preparation to fly.

"I'm naming him Trunks," she said.

I looked over my shoulder. She twisted her hands together; met my gaze. "If it's a boy. If it's a girl I'm going to name it Bra."

"Good?" I said.

"I want…" She fumbled uncharacteristically, then rallied, overcompensating by throwing back her shoulders. "I want you to come visit them. I can badger him all I want, but I don't expect Vegeta to take a very active role. I might need… help once in a while, you know?"

I turned to face her. She dropped her hands to her sides. "I want you to be its godfather," she said simply.

I smiled. Behind me, an aircar turned a sharp corner and went roaring past, sending pebbles scattering along the median. "You'll change your mind."

"Yamcha." She looked pained. "Don't do this. I don't want you out of my life. I just… can't you understand?"

"I love you," I said. "I love you with every fiber of my being. I want you to marry me."

"I can't."

Dirt scritched under my heel as I turned, flaring my ki. "Then no," I said softly, "I can't."

I'm not sure if she was watching when I eased myself into _buku jitsu_ from the porch. I'm not sure if it mattered that I heard a whisper of _something, _though whether or not it was a farewell was open to interpretation. I'm not sure where I was planning to go, or what I was planning to do when I got there. I am sure, though, that once I was in the air, speeding from beauty or falling from grace, that I never once looked back.

I guess that'll have to be enough.

_(fin 11-25-2k3)_


End file.
